


Roles

by XVII



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Ass to Mouth, Autofisting, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Cock Rings, Cumsharing, Dirty Talk, Dominance, Double Penetration, Fingerfucking, Fisting, Handcuffs, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Masochism, Riding Crop, Rimming, Size Difference, Submission, Threesome, d/s dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 21:10:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XVII/pseuds/XVII
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His friend seemed to catch his attention shift, and looked back to see what James was looking at. He practically devoured Ben with his eyes before pulling them to an arm’s length apart. Tom gave his congrats for the film and James nodded his head in a show of genial modesty, before Tom leaned in to be heard over the noises of their crowd. </p><p>“Is he yours as well, then? I’d like him.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roles

There were people all around. Excited, clamouring people.   
People thrusting papers at him, some of which he was quite sure were not even him—he thought he may have signed at least one photo of Anthony Perkins. But the excitement was the important part. It was good; he loved it. 

And it got even more palpable as a familiar face appeared: Tom Hiddleston, following down the line after him, smiling and speaking to those fans of his that were there with an easy grace that James himself hoped to mimic. He did alright for himself, he supposed—he was no Ben—who, come to think of it, he could see coming up behind Tom, taking deep breaths before greeting everyone. 

He’d reached the clearing where the line of fans was ended by carefully arranged gates, and he stood there, waving and allowing time for photos. It was good for publicity—but even better was the opportunity that presented itself when Tom came up beside him. 

There were quick greetings, a clasping of hands, and then they turned almost as one to face the cameras.

Neither had to say much. Tom’s hand crawled across the small of James’s back, and then upwards, settling on his shoulder.   
They’d met years before, on the set of Nicholas Nickleby, and at the time James had been ashamed of his smug feeling—how he’d been a silly LAMDA grad, and he in the lead, while this fancy little RADA boy had had barely two lines. 

But they got on well enough on set, and even better after filming had wrapped and they’d unwrapped. Tom had learned more than just acting and dancing at his posh little boarding school. Floreat Etona indeed. 

He’d had a special sort of pleasure in topping the hell out of the thinner man, feeling his wiry muscles strain against him and hearing the moans and muffled curses and pleas. He loved making Tom forget how to be a gentleman. He loved making him forget everything. 

It was never about love though, and neither of them had suffered any delusions on the subject. They shagged, they spoke, they shared wine and had a good time, and when their lives and projects caused them to drift apart, there was never any hard feeling.

And when they got back together, there generally was a sort of hardness between them, but never any ill will, and always good company.

The tides had changed now, though, enough that Tom’s name was huge and he was riding it with all the elegance that his considerable training provided. 

James’s attention and gaze was pulled to Ben, though, as he began making his way down the row, all smiles and apparent ease, though his short movements showed the less than casual viewer exactly how uncomfortable he was.   
He wished he could hurry the rest of the crowd away, but fortunately Tom seemed to be soaking up much of their attention. 

His friend seemed to catch his attention shift, and looked as well, before pulling them to an arm’s length apart. Tom gave his congrats for the film and James nodded his head in a show of genial modesty, before Tom leaned in to be heard over the noises of their crowd. 

“Is he yours as well, then? I’d like him.” 

When he pulled back, he still looked playful and proper, but his eyes were wary. This was new ground for them. 

James nodded towards Ben and lifted a shoulder. Tom inclined his head slightly, and James beckoned Ben over. 

“Ben, I’d like you to meet Tom. Tom, Ben.” He knew Tom’s tastes no longer took singularly to the bottom of a bed, but he hadn’t spent much time imagining him pumping that glorious cock of his into some willing little thing, but with Ben standing between them, he couldn’t help but draw the mental image. 

It made his mouth water and his pants threaten to tighten. 

“After the screening, perhaps we might…?” He left it to trail off, giving Ben a significant glance, before flicking his eyes up to Tom’s face. 

Ben was quick, bless him, and he looked up to Tom and swallowed, obviously cataloguing Tom’s darkening eyes and Tom’s attention to the way Ben’s throat worked and bobbed. 

Ben looked back at James, and he found himself holding his breath. He knew Ben was shy, and a little timid—he didn’t want to chance losing him because Ben thought James was trying to prostitute him out or some such thing. 

But Ben looked between them and then down, giving one of his shy little smiles, and said, in a voice almost too soft to be heard over the crowd,   
“I’d like that.” 

“Yeah?” He couldn’t help the surprised response, which made Tom look at him quizzically. He frowned and shrugged, just as some event coordinator came up to ask them to move inside and make room for the next arrivals. 

The next four hours passed at an appalling rate, sometimes a drag and sometimes in a flash.   
Tom waved his goodbyes as they answered questions and took one or two last group pictures, and then they were free. 

In the back of the cab, James stroked Ben’s hair, his cheek warm against his shoulder and the thick strands soft under his fingers. 

“You did very well.” He told the younger man. “Not a sign of nerves in sight.” 

Ben clung tighter and whispered, “They were there, though.”

“Were they there for the crowd, or for Tom? He was quite taken with you, you know.” It was true; Tom had texted James saying that he’d leave the night clear for them, if they weren’t too worn out, and that they should let him know. 

Ben nodded, his soft voice almost sleepy sounding, though James knew from experience that it was just shyness.   
“I’ve seen him at RADA events. I… he’s very kind. A good speaker. I just didn’t…” 

“You were too nervous to talk to him.” He cottoned on quickly enough. “Why didn’t you ask? I’d have introduced you before this.” 

“I didn’t realize…” Ben shrugged and snuggled tighter into James’s side. “And I didn’t want you to think you weren’t enough.” 

Enough here meaning ‘enough to ground me’. Ben had a boyfriend; a sweet, kind, gentle human being, whom he loved. That isn’t to say that what was between them wasn’t love. It was, in its own way, but Ben needed a release of the sort his boyfriend couldn’t give him. He couldn’t even imagine asking for it from him. And that had made him anxious. All his nerves tended to bottle up, sometimes to the point of paralyzing him. 

Their first time, that was how James had found him, in his hotel in Germany during filming. Curled in on himself, with his long, lean limbs wound around his body in a way that, even still, could only be described as graceful. 

And James was not unfamiliar with the art of bringing someone up out of a low state—granted, usually he put them there first, with carefully chosen words and touches and well applied pain. But this was not all that different. Ben had just done it to himself. 

That first time, he lay beside him, stroked his arms, spoke softly. Put him together enough to do the day’s work. And then that night he had taken him apart, piece by piece, and put him back together in a more stable way. 

The vulnerability that he was so lauded for was hardly played at at all, he found. Just let out. And sometimes Ben needed to relieve that pressure. He needed to let out that vulnerability in a way that was socially acceptable, between jobs. And he needed to feel safe doing it.   
James could help. Did help. Gladly. 

And if anyone saw or wondered about the marks that he left after such sessions, they didn’t comment. He was more careful now that they were away from set, now that Ben had someone to go home to.   
Often he had to limit the soreness he caused to the inside of Ben’s body, but as long as the process remained intact, it still seemed to help. 

“Is Tom… like you?” Ben asked, his quiet voice loud against the echoes of James’s thoughts. 

“Tom was once a great deal like you—not for nerves so much as needing something to fight against, so that he could give in. But I reckon that’s changed. His posture’s changed, how he holds himself… I would bet he’s more like me now. Or at least, he will be for you, once he understands what you need.”

“You won’t let him hurt me though?” Ben was nervous and it was clear, from the line of his back to the way his hand fisted in James’s jacket, to the slight tremour in his voice. 

“Nothing beyond what you want, no.” He pressed his lips to the top of Ben’s head, pausing there for a long second before talking again. “Do you want to meet him tonight? He’s waiting to hear, but if you want to wait--”

“It will be easier to explain staying out late on a gala night. Tonight.” Ben decided, and though he was still worried, his decision was firm. James smiled. 

“Alright.” He said, and pulled out his phone, texting Tom the address of his flat—where the cab was headed now—and nothing else.

They beat him there, of course, and James stripped off his jacket and tie and opened the first two buttons of his shirt, but when Ben began to follow suit, he stopped him. 

“Let Tom unwrap you. He likes that, as I recall.”   
Ben made a small, desperate noise in the back of his throat in response. He ruffled his hair and walked around the bar and into his kitchen.

James opened a bottle of wine and pulled out his aerator. Normally he’d decant it, but they didn’t have the time. This would have to do. Likewise, he brought out a bottle of whiskey, and its respective aerator. 

“Ben?” He started, but the knock came first, and he leveled a hard look at the young man in his living room, who was already seeming to shrink into himself. With that look though, he forced his shoulders out, his arms at his side. Nearly standing at attention, the rigidity was far better on him than the shrinking was. It looked better, made him feel more assured of himself and his place here, and it wouldn’t make Tom think that he was just following orders, and didn’t want this for himself. The only part of him allowed to slump was his head—he could look up or down as he pleased. He opted for studying his feet. No surprise there.

With one final glance around, James nodded in satisfaction, and opened the door. 

Tom was still fully dressed, which was lovely. Very respectful of him, though James’s own appearance was meant to assure him that there was no rigidity to the dress code for the event. His relaxed dress was the first sign that tonight would be anything more than talk, and he could feel Tom’s appreciative gaze sizing him up, weighing out whether or not he could—or should—ask. 

He gestured inside, once it seemed Tom’s politeness had refused to let him skip past the pleasantries, and closed the door behind him. 

“Make yourself comfortable, Tom. Can I get either of you a drink? I have whiskey and red wine.”

“What’s the wine?” Tom asked, shucking his jacket while taking a long eyeful of Ben from behind. Ben hadn’t moved from his spot, though he was looking up now, his eyes trained unflinchingly on James, hooded and heavy with desire already. 

“A syrah from a friend in the southern part of France. Seven years old.” He answered levelly, giving only a small smile to his boy. 

“Cheers.” Tom said, nodding at that and sending back a smile of his own, though he seemed to sense James’s wasn’t for him. He stepped up close behind Ben, looking but not touching—not yet.

“You’re so lovely, so expressive.” The words were low, but not a whisper—not meant to be hidden from James. He congratulated Tom internally on his form, his eyes and hands busy with the wine. 

He knew Ben would prefer whiskey, and so turned away to pull the stones from his freezer, before thinking better of it. He didn’t intend for there to be time for the drink to warm.   
He carried his and Tom’s stemmed glasses in one hand, and Ben’s tumbler in the other, and gave Tom’s to him first. He also silently handed him his wine, and moved to in front of Ben, lifting his lowered head with a handful of his thick hair, until he was damn near facing the ceiling. 

“All of it.” He instructed, pressing the rim of the glass to Ben’s lips.   
Ben opened his mouth obediently and swallowed until the glass had been drained and James lifted it away from his mouth. 

Tom had come around front to stand beside James and observe, and he was taken by Ben’s tongue chasing the last of the drops of whiskey that lingered on his lips. 

Hand still in his hair, James sent a smirk at Tom, then leaned in to kiss Ben, his tongue immediately seeking out the sharp taste of the whiskey and the mellower, familiar taste of desperation that seemed forever to linger behind those alluring lips. 

Ben made a needy sound and swayed forward, leaning into James and the kiss. 

James took that as a sign to back off and retrieved his wine glass from Tom, sipping from it as he sat the empty tumbler on his counter. 

“Tom? Would you like to establish boundaries?” He offered, seating himself somewhat imperiously on the cream leather of his armchair to watch the proceedings. Ben turned his head to watch where James went, and Tom took the opportunity, lunging closer with a fencer’s grace. 

Ben flinched, and Tom smiled, reaching up as though to stroke his face. 

“I’d like to touch you.” He spoke the words to Ben, but his eyes had drifted across the planes of his face, to lock on James’s. 

“Yes.” The word came, wavering, from Ben’s lips, and he licked at them nervously.   
James nodded his agreement. 

“Ah.” Tom breathed in, inhaling the smell of Ben’s skin, his hair, and he stroked a thumb along his cheekbone. He watched carefully, his eyes darting back and forth between Ben’s, so close that neither of them could really look away.   
“I’d like to kiss you.” 

Again came that whining note of greed from Ben, who obviously seemed to think that should be answer enough, and leaned in, but Tom pulled backwards a hair, again turning to James. 

“Ben?” James prompted, and Ben swallowed.   
“Yes.” He breathed. James nodded. 

Tom didn’t hesitate, bringing their lips together in a way that was at once wet and filthy and yet also sweet, almost considerate. 

James waited for them to part, waited to be sure Ben wouldn’t touch without asking, waited for their breaths to even ever so slightly, before he cleared his throat. 

“Tom.” He made his voice stern, but playful. “This is about negotiating, not instant gratification. If you keep this up I’m going to have to decide Ben’s too lust addled to make decisions.” 

Tom took a step back, still graceful, but the look on his face slightly horrified at his own poor manners.   
“Of course. I’m sorry.” The apology was aimed at Ben, as it should be. Ben nodded dumbly, his eyes amazingly dark. James stood and circled around to stand behind Ben, drink abandoned on his side table. 

He ran his hands down Ben’s arms, letting his boy tremble in his grasp. 

“Tell us exactly what you’d like to do, Tom. Do you want to fuck him?” He intentionally used the most base terms available, roughening his voice and seeing goosepimples rise on Ben’s neck in response. He tried to lean back into him. 

“I want to undress him, lick and bite and rub him. I want to wrap his lips around my cock and push into his throat. I want to hit his little ass til it’s red and bite his nipples until they’re bruised, and then I want to split him open with my dick.” He delivered it with the same sort of serious intensity with which he spoke Shakespeare, and Ben’s mouth dropped open in silent agreement. 

“Ben?” James prompted again, and Ben nodded, his eyes on Tom before he rolled his head back against James’s shoulder. 

“Can I?” It was a soft request, but with a hard edge, almost a challenge. James knew he couldn’t really stop him, but Ben knew that too. It was just part of their game. 

“Do you have anything you want to add, Ben?” He said, instead of just giving permission and sending them off. He rolled his hips into Ben’s ass, and grinned at Tom when Ben reacted. 

“I—want to touch you too.” Ben was looking at Tom now, and Tom licked his lips, his eyes trailing down to where Ben’s hands were clenching and unclenching. 

“Yes.” Tom said, the single syllable dripping from his tongue. 

“I want you to open me up. Slowly. Take me apart with your fingers…” Ben trailed off, having to close his eyes as he imagined all too vividly what that would be like. James pressed his chin into Ben’s shoulder and rubbed down his arms again, anchoring him to here and now. 

“And mouth.” Tom added.

“Yes.” Ben agreed. 

“Yes.” Tom followed. 

“And…” Ben hesitated, and Tom’s eyes snapped to James’s. He just crooked an eyebrow. He had no idea what was running through Ben’s mind.   
“I want James—I want you both. Together.” He sounded ashamed; like he thought the request was too much. And maybe it was, a little, but he was allowed. 

His words went straight to James’s cock.   
They’d talked about it before—Ben had such a greedy little hole, and he was well stretched for it. He’d fisted Ben a handful of times—that kind of overwhelming fullness broke him down more completely than anything else they had ever achieved, and Ben had made mention of wanting more…

“Yes.” Tom declared, a challenging look on his face now, and only then did it dawn on James the sheer amount of mischief he was proposing to take to bed that night.

“We’ll see.” James said, not denying them outright—he wasn’t sure he ever had or could—but still cautious. “When the time comes, we’ll see.”   
Ben glared at him, but then his face softened and he nodded. 

“You take such good care of me.” He whispered. James gave him a peck on the temple, then looked up to Tom, all business once again. 

“My turn. Lubricant. Safe word- Ben uses ‘crone’. Only the toys in our collection—and only if you ask first. I don’t suppose you have blood test results on you? No? Then condoms. Ben is on a hairspring—move carefully until you know how he’ll react. And he’s mine for aftercare. You can make tea or something. Agreed?” 

“Yes.” The both of them chorused. He pressed a kiss to the side of Ben’s neck, just under his ear, and stepped away. 

“Tom? I think Ben would like it if you undressed him now.” He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d come to be the one calling the shots in this life, but he accepted it. He knew them, he cared for them. Tom might not need his form of release any more, but he’d help to be sure Ben got what he needed out of it, and they all enjoyed themselves in the process. 

James reclaimed his seat and his wineglass, reclining while he watched Tom stand behind Ben. Neither of them was particularly wide, but Tom’s height made Ben look tiny, almost pixieish. Which was, of course, part of his appeal. 

Tom turned them so that Ben was facing James, his arms bent behind him so that he could clutch at Tom’s thighs. His eyes were in the process of sliding closed from the lusty weight of whatever Tom was mouthing against his ear. 

Tom’s fingers danced over the buttons of his double breasted black waistcoat, pulling it open and apart, pulling Ben’s hands away from his legs to take it off, before he began working his way down the shirt. 

As the strip of pale skin was bared, Ben stopped Tom’s litany of filth with a moan before he reached out for James.   
“Please?” His voice came stronger with the request, and James felt half his mouth hitch upwards as he stood. 

“And what can I do for you?” He asked, tone intentionally sharp. Ben closed his eyes, his lips parting, and swayed on his feet. James saw Ben’s hand going for his crotch, and stopped it. 

“Tom, I think he’s getting a bit ahead of us. Do you mind if I intercede?” 

“Not at all.” Tom responded graciously and evenly, as though they were discussing nothing more than a tennis match. 

“Ben? Fetch me the cage, please.” Ben bit his lip and disentangled himself, his shirt slumping on his arms as he made his way into James’s bedroom. 

They both turned to watch him, the slight sway of his hips and his pronounced shoulder blades peeking over the dark fabric. 

“It’s good to see you outside of events.” Tom spoke up, breaking the silence, and James couldn’t help but agree. 

“Been a good few years all across the board, hasn’t it?” In truth they had drifted, had been drifting for some time. 

“I’ve missed you.” Tom spoke softly. 

“You might have called.” James returned, without any fire behind it. Tom nodded. 

James reached out then and slid the suit coat off of Tom’s shoulders, undoing his waistcoat and sending it to follow the jacket onto the floor. 

Tom caught the back of James’s neck in a large hand, stronger now than it had been at their last dalliance, and used it to pull them together. He rested his forehead on James’s. 

“You’ve always been as tall as I am, but I can honestly say I would never have expected this sort of definition.” James spoke softly, and Tom gave him a dazzling, albeit lopsided grin. 

Instead of a verbal response, he tipped his head to the side and brought their mouths together, helping James to remember exactly what it felt like to have the man’s entire being focused on your lips, your tongue.   
He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t missed it. 

Their hands pulled at one another’s shirts as the kiss turned into—not a battle so much as a show of dominance and ability. 

When Ben returned, his arrival was announced by a strangled groan. 

“Starting without me?” He asked, and Tom broke away from James almost sheepishly.  
“Just greeting an old friend, darling.” James interjected smoothly, then frowned. “Where did your shirt run off to?” Because Ben was clutching a box to his chest, which was of course absolutely bare skinned already. 

“I left it on your bed. It got caught on the edge of the drawer and tore a bit, and I didn’t want either of you getting any ideas.” The wicked twitch on the corners of his mouth made his sass far more endearing. 

“Is that the cage?” Tom asked, nodding at the box in Ben’s hands. “May I see?” 

Ben looked to James, who gestured at Tom, and then approached the other man, the box held at arm’s length so he could stop a couple of feet away. 

Tom didn’t seem to mind, just cracked it open and sucked in air, stroking the apparatus inside with obvious approval.   
He looked up at James, eyes damn near sparkling with delight. 

“May I put it on him?” Ben opened his mouth to suck in air, and James inclined his head. 

“Your pants, Ben.” James instructed lazily. 

He didn’t think he’d ever seen those graceful hands so hurried and clumsy before, but eventually Ben was standing, naked in all his thin, pale glory, in James’s living room.   
And Tom was kneeling before him looking up almost worshipfully, the box at Ben’s feet while Ben brought a hand to rest on Tom’s head, and it all felt almost religious. James found himself holding his breath while the first loop of the silvery green rubber slid over Ben’s shaft, then stretched to allow his bollocks to pass through. That secured, it was rotated, so that the thin piece of stiffer rubber would lie flat along the top of his erection, and the ring of small balls that formed the secondary ring would lay just where it was intended, in the small dip under the head of his cock. Thin rubber strands draped over the head of it, and a final small ring circled his slit, leaving it open to tongues, touches… and more likely than not, proving torturous for him before the night was out. 

Tom spent a good deal of time and attention to ensuring that it was seated right, turning Ben into a trembling, panting mess before James rolled his eyes. 

“If you want to play with him that badly, you’re welcome to take him in to the bedroom. I’ll follow in a moment. I warn you though, he is very responsive.”

“So I see.” Tom murmured. He climbed to his feet, and Ben offered his hand to lead Tom into the room, which made James’s eyebrow raise. 

Ben rarely initiated contact with new people. Then again, he also didn’t usually propose to shag them at first sight.   
He hoped Tom understood, even to some small extent, how very lucky he was. 

When he’d moved all the glasses back into the kitchen, he rotated his shoulders, mentally prepared himself, and made his way into his room.

The sight that greeted him made him remember exactly how loose and comfortable his pants were not. 

Tom was still wearing his slacks, but the rest of him had been stripped, clothes strewn around them in a show of uncaring. He had one foot up on the bed, one hand on Ben’s forehead, his long fingers fisted in the hair there. His other hand was braced on the sheets while he thrust shallowly downwards into Ben’s mouth and throat, the thin rubber stretched over him and making him look slick and unnaturally smooth. James could actually see where the head of Tom’s dick was bulging and disrupting the perfect line of Ben’s neck, and it made him hard pressed, momentarily, to find air. 

Ben was palming his own cock as best as he could beyond the cage, and James had to resist the urge to follow suit. 

Instead, he cleared his throat. 

“Tom, did he get your permission to touch himself?” Tom looked down, confused, then back at James, a smirk settling in and looking out of place on features that James was used to seeing as soft. 

“Not at all, I’m afraid.” He withdrew himself from Ben, stepping aside to give James access to dole out punishment as he saw fit.

“Sorry! I’m sorry!” Ben choked out, his voice rough and his lips red from being stretched over his teeth. 

James didn’t resist the urge to wrap a hand around Ben’s neck, to lean down and kiss him before using the grip to pull him to his feet. He stared down at Ben from his taller stature, his eyes slipping down the planes of his open, vulnerable face, and down to the already abused looking mouth. 

He leaned him backwards over the foot of his bed, until only his toes were on the floor and James rested between his legs. He traced his fingers gently up the exposed underside of his shaft. 

“James I’m sorry—please, touch me. I need you to--” They didn’t go in for honorifics. James had never been a sir in the bed room and that suited him just fine, but the way Ben said his name when he got like this, when he was excited and shaking, was nothing short of reverent. It reinforced their roles, for him—let him know Ben was enjoying the game, still. 

“I don’t think so. Tom, if you will, the lube is in the drawer under the bed—along with the crop.”   
Ben fucking whimpered, and James could feel his eyebrow twitching.   
Tom, thank goodness, obeyed unflinchingly. Probably he was interested in seeing Ben’s skin flushed in stripes of red. 

Ben didn’t like to talk about it, but they both knew that this was part of why he came to James—it took a careful hand to know how hard to hurt without bruising, without doing anything more than causing stinging sensitivity, which would be brushed against shortly, when that skin touched the bed or Tom’s or his thighs. 

Tom pressed in close when he handed over the riding crop. 

“We never used one of these.” He said, his voice dangerously close to being a pout. James smirked and ruffled Tom’s hair.

“We can remedy that on you sometime soon, if you’d like. Or maybe once you’ve grown your mop out a bit again—I miss the curls.” Tom wrinkled his nose, but pressed himself against James’s back. 

“I want to feel you hit him.” He murmured, throaty and rough into James’s ear, but not so quiet that Ben couldn’t hear, as was made very apparent from Ben’s squirming. The boy was ridiculously horny, and this was only going to make it worse. 

“On your stomach.” James ordered, and Ben hastened to comply, knees under his chest and ass raised, presenting himself for his punishment. Tom nuzzled into James’s cheek from behind as he raised his arm and dropped the buttery leather down across Ben’s pale little bum. 

He delivered ten strikes, not quick, but with a measured pace, while Tom ground his hips into his ass and James stopped at ten to adjust his pants. Ben let out a shuddering sigh and James had to double check to be sure he hadn’t come from the blows alone. It wouldn’t be the first time. The lines of his back were relaxed already, compared to how he’d been coming into the apartment. Good.   
“How does that feel? Does it hurt?”

“Yes.” Ben’s voice had taken on the blissful, dreamy quality that James associated with Ben sinking down, relaxing. Perfect.

“Do you like the hurt? Want some more?” He prompted, and Ben gave a small moan.

“Yes.”   
No more words were exchanged, but Tom’s hips pulled back before James felt a different touch at his bum—Tom fisting himself inside his pants, no doubt. He remembered having put the same sort of dopey reliance on Tom’s face as was assuredly on Ben’s now. He wondered if that would happen tonight.   
He brought his arm down one final time, the slap ringing like an echo in the room. He set it down and rubbed his hands over the skin before him, soaking up the radiant heat through his palms. 

“Roll over, Ben. Tom? Would you mind helping me out of my trousers?”   
Tom hummed from just beside his ear and he felt his arms come around his hips as though they’d just been waiting for the order, fingers working his fly before sending the fabric to the ground at his feet.   
He stepped out of them and kicked them out of his way, checking to be sure that Ben was watching before he turned and kissed Tom, returning the favor of divesting him of both trousers and pants.

Ben squeaked as they separated and James hooked his thumbs in the elastic waistband of his own small clothes, dropping those as well before turning to face Ben.   
“I’m going to fuck you now. Do you want it?” He stroked himself, putting on a little show, twisting his wrist and thumbing over his head, spreading the slickness over himself.

“Yes, James, yes please.” Ben had pulled his arms up over his head, resting them on the bed and crossed over at the wrist. It was his position for resisting the urge to touch without permission. He was trying very hard to behave tonight—probably afraid of losing the privilege of being as full as he was hoping they would make him.

“Tom? Be a dear and prepare him for me.” He wasn’t asking, but he didn’t suppose Tom would argue.  
Indeed, he didn’t. 

As James stepped out of the way, Tom dropped to his knees before the bed, lube gripped in one hand and the other already tracing teasingly slight touches over the insides of Ben’s thighs where his legs fell open invitingly. 

Ben sucked in air. 

“How does it feel, Ben? Talk to Tom, tell him what you want.” He dropped a hand onto Tom’s shoulder and squeezed, watching carefully to see to it that Ben wasn’t hurt or under prepared. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Tom and think highly of him, but he would feel better about it, and Ben trusted him to take care of him. It was the reason Ben came to him, the reason they all were here. 

Tom greased three fingers outright and touched the pad of his middle finger to the ring of muscle, choking back an almost laugh when it relaxed practically at once.   
Ben was not inexperienced—but nor was he damaged and gaping, and James intended to see to it that he stayed that way. 

“I want--” Ben’s voice was still a little breathy, but now it sounded rough as well, not far from being positively wrecked, but risen from his subspace. That was fine, he could send him down again… and better that he have at least some of his faculties about him while they teased and wore him down.   
“I want him inside of me. Feel so empty…” Ben was blushing, some combination of arousal and embarrassment turning his face a pretty pink shade that nearly matched the stripes on his cheeks. 

“What do you think, Tom? In the mood to fill our boy?” he knew he probably sounded positively wicked—that was fine. 

“I’d rather like to stretch him first, I think.” Tom was trying for a casual tone, but he was excited, and it was audible. James squeezed his shoulder again. 

“He stretches faster than ever you did. With enough lube and a little attention, I wouldn’t be surprised to see him swallow up your entire hand.” 

Ben made a soft humming moan, as Tom slid two fingers quickly inside. 

“Is that so?” He asked, quieter now as his arousal hiked higher and his concentration was divided between speaking and the sight of his fingers sinking into Ben’s body. He rotated his wrist and Ben let out a tiny half sob, his hands twitching as though trying to touch, before he clasped them together still over his head. His knuckles went pale from the pressure of squeezing them, and James didn’t miss any of it. 

“Do you want me to tie your hands, Ben? Would it make it easier for you?” It was a genuine offer, made without derision, and not intended to humiliate-- thus spoken softly and sincerely.   
It dropped him out of the role of punisher and more fully into that of caretaker. He saw Ben understand that, the intelligence still there behind the blown out pupils of his smile prone eyes. 

“Yes. Yes please.” The corners of his eyes creased in a smile while his mouth fell open at Tom’s ministrations, and James smiled back encouragingly. 

“Should I--” Tom began, but James interrupted him. 

“By all means, keep on with what you’re doing. He’s enjoying it.”

Tom grinned and gave another pulsing thrust of his fingers. Ben let loose a high pitched whine and James turned his back to pull out the leather cuffs with the soft lining. He was very careful not to ever put something on his wrists that might bruise, and the cuffs were wide and lined so as not to cut into his arms. They laced on the outsides, six grommets a piece, and in the middle between them was a single three inch O ring, through which he had long ago secured a single black silk scarf, which he used to tie Ben’s bound wrists to the headboard. 

His fingers worked quickly, as did Tom’s, and Ben had managed to get his feet flat on the side of the bed. It let him arch his back becomingly, and gave him leverage to work his hips, pulling away and trying to gain more pressure from Tom’s fingers by turns.

Tom laughed easily at Ben’s eagerness, and added his third finger in, rotating his wrist until he was pressing upwards inside of him. 

“You’re so warm, so tight.” It was cliché and James nearly rolled his eyes—would have, if Tom didn’t sound so awestruck by it. “You look good enough to taste.” Tom finished, queuing another almost-eyeroll from James, who was saved the effort only by Tom lowering his head to lap with a surprisingly pink tongue across the stretched and angrily flushed skin of Ben’s sac. 

The sight made him forget his taunts, the witty words dying on his tongue, which had gone dry just watching Tom’s fingers sink into Ben’s ass as deep as they’d go while Ben’s ball disappeared into Tom’s mouth. 

“Pleaseplease.” Ben whimpered, the words forming seemingly of their own volition, since he didn’t seem to know what he was doing with his mouth.

“Tom? That’s enough, if you please.” He made a dismissive motion with his hand, and was almost startled at the glare that Tom shot him over Ben’s leg, but the expression slid from his face so quickly, he wasn’t entirely sure it had been there. 

Just the same, James made a point of looking Tom full in the face as he slipped between Ben’s thighs and lifted his legs, arranging him to his liking.

His bony heel dug into the pocket of James’s shoulder, the arch of his foot curling delicately over his collar bone. He was bent nearly in half as James sank into him from above, but he was robbed the pleasure of seeing his face, as Tom crawled onto the bed and straddled Ben’s chest, thrusting into his mouth. He could see Tom’s hands supporting the back of his neck—that was good. It would be more comfortable for his poor, sweet boy. 

As a reward, he spit slicked a finger, and rubbed it over Tom’s arsehole, hovering as it was in front of him. Tom’s spine straightened and his hips jumped forward, making Ben choke. James smirked—Ben loved it when he could be taken by surprise. He knew his eyes must be filling with tears just now—Tom was a lucky man for the sight before him, though James knew he was no less lucky. 

He pressed his finger inwards, dragging against the muscle there until Tom loosened up and let him inside. He rocked his hips downward at a leisurely pace, more tantric and teasing than actually attempting to get off with this. He could, of course, but Ben wanted more from him. From them. 

He just hoped Tom could and would exercise similar restraint. They had a long night ahead of them.  
Tom rocked back onto his finger, obviously lobbying for more, and he heard Ben gasp as the motion dragged Tom’s cock free of his lips. Tom sat up and leaned towards James, pushing his back against Ben’s knees. 

James gave a particularly strong snap of his hips to make Ben cry out, and then ran his tongue down a good six inches of Tom’s spine—all that he could reach. 

“If you cream in his ass, I would love to lick it out of him.” Tom spoke suddenly, and his words had lost the crisp edge of gentility. He suddenly sounded much more like he had when they’d met. Younger. 

Ben’s intake of air was audible, and even without being able to see, James could feel him nodding yes frantically on the bed.   
“Please James, I want that.”

“You’re like greedy children.” He spoke down to them as if they were little more than first year boys in a candy shoppe, rather than two fully grown men who were asking him to spend himself in the smaller one’s arse. He thrust into said arse, just to punctuate the reprimand. “How do you expect to have us both in you, Ben, if you have me finish off now?” 

Tom shivered and unfolded himself from his position over Ben, much to both James and Ben’s disappointment.   
But he didn’t stay away long. He curled a long arm around James’s shoulder from behind and tucked his mouth in next to his ear. 

“What’s the matter, old man? Can’t go twice in a night any more? I remember a weekend of marathon sex—but I suppose the years haven’t been particularly kind.”   
James spluttered indignantly, and Ben tensed his arms, obviously having forgotten the cuffs and tried to reach down and touch himself. 

James raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to ask to be released. Instead, all Ben said was,   
“You’ve never fucked me for two days straight.” 

“Three. Bank holiday.” Tom corrected, making eye contact with Ben over James’s shoulder. He drew back, obviously eyeing James up from behind, then leaned in, dragging their hips together and his dick along James’s arse. 

“If you come in him now, I promise that Ben and I will do anything it takes to get you hard again. Whatever you want.” 

It was James’s turn for a reactionary shudder, and Tom’s tongue on his ear didn’t help.   
Tom snapped his hips forward, his saliva slicked, rubber covered cock sliding between James’s thighs. 

James slid forward into Ben, echoing Tom’s movement as though it were a dance, and tightened his thighs around Tom’s member to be sure he felt it as well. He could sense Tom’s grin, though he couldn’t see it, and could imagine the look on him, that damn near feral face he made when things went his way.

“Lookit him just swallowing you up, and he’s straining so hard—can’t reach for you with his hands so he’s trying with his prick instead.” Tom spoke in a low, rough, unhurried way that send James’s pulse racing. He knew Ben was listening as well, because his already sex flushed cheeks had darkened and a becoming pink was training down his throat and shoulders and just gracing his chest. 

“He’s so small, so tight, you and I are just going to split him in half, aren’t we?” Tom was showing a bit of strain now, and he stuttered in the rhythm of his thrusts. James pulsed his thighs tighter, causing a sound like a snarl to come out next. Ben moaned. 

“I want that. I want you both in me, fill me so much. So good. Take me all apart.” 

“Yeah? Could you handle two of this?” James managed, though it sounded more like a grunt as he sped up, abandoning his semblances of control and pounding into Ben rapidly, his strokes short and forceful.   
Ben let out a single keening note that, coupled with James’s thrusts, warbled and shook. Tom ran his hands up James’s chest to tweak at his nipples. His blunt nails made stripes from his shoulders to navel, and James shook and began to cum. He drew himself tight against Ben, letting go of his legs to drop his hands beside the prone body on his bed. Those legs found their way around both him and Tom, and pulled Tom down into James’s back as well, where he slid between his thighs for just a moment more before stilling as he, too, spilled himself and shook out his orgasm. 

Ben whined but didn’t voice the complaint otherwise, didn’t turn it into words.   
James reached up and stroked his face anyway. 

“You’ll be positively sobbing for it before you come, Ben. You know that. You know I’m good to you.” 

“And I’m good for my word. May I untie him?” Tom asked, tying and chucking his condom in the bin before stretching languidly like a cat.   
James caught Ben’s eyes following Tom’s movement, the pupils so wide now that he could only see the barest sliver of green around them. 

“Yes. But give me a moment before you start—I’m going to go fetch the bottle, and I don’t want to miss this.”

He did as he said, hurrying so as not to delay any of them unnecessarily. 

Ben was gingerly rolling his shoulders, trying not to move the lower half of his body, though whether that was out of care for his abused flesh or to keep from losing any of the load in his ass, James didn’t know. 

Tom was perched on his knees behind Ben, and upon seeing James had returned, he steered the dark haired man into facing him, tugging forth a little cry as Ben’s muscles shifted under skin still bright from being smacked.   
Ben stopped when they were knee to knee and Tom had to pull him closer, dropping his ass onto his lap. He tilted Ben’s face up and kissed him, wet and sloppy, while his fingers dipped into Ben’s abused hole, the slick sound coming in stereo from their lips and Tom’s fingers.   
James took the time to appreciate the arch of their necks, the way Ben haltingly brought his hands up to grasp Tom’s face, the way Tom’s fingers on Ben’s hip were slowly turning the skin there white with the pressure, how they disappeared into Ben’s hole easily. 

And then Tom pulled his hand away and broke the kiss, despite Ben’s subverbal objection and attempt to restore their mouths’ contact.   
But Tom’s lips twisted and he stared straight into Ben’s eyes as he brought his fingers-- wet with James’s cum-- up to his mouth and licked a single broad stripe between them, before pulling them in and closing his lips around them. 

It was obscene, and James felt something in his lower stomach tightening just watching. He thought for a moment, that the noise he heard was coming from him, but it was Ben’s mouth which had fallen open, Ben who was panting and leaning in to push his tongue into Tom’s mouth alongside his fingers. 

It turned into another kiss, quick and sloppy, which ended with Tom pushing Ben backwards and pulling him up his lap by his hips, until his knees were on Tom’s shoulders. 

“You know,” Tom said matter of factly, as though he wasn’t a few scant centimeters from the mess that was Ben’s asshole, “I seem to recall having seen you at a RADA event or two. Had I known you were like this, I’d have taken you home right then, society be damned.” Ben looked like he planned to respond, but he found his words interrupted by Tom’s tongue digging into him. He tipped his head back, eyes sliding closed as Tom began making the most obscene sounds that James had ever heard. 

This time it was James who whimpered, though he hid it quickly in his bottle.

Tom propped one arm in the small of Ben’s back, holding him up that way and freeing a hand to close in a fist around Ben’s cock.   
Ben cried out, head jerking immediately over to James. 

“Not yet, Thomas.” He got quickly in control of his voice, made it commanding. He cleared his throat.   
“He works differently than you— just once. And only when he can’t hold out any longer.”  
Tom looked considering—as much as one can when buried nose deep in another man’s anus, and gave Ben another squeeze before letting go of him. 

He broke for air and with a few final licks, lay Ben on the bed and stood. 

He stalked across the room to where James sat, and took the wine bottle from him, settling it carefully on the carpet beside the chair, before straddling the older man. 

“And? Would you like a taste of yourself, and him, and I?” 

Tom was taller than him, and so he had to tilt his head back to open himself for the kiss, his hands dancing up to linger on the hard lines of Tom’s jaw. As Tom turned his head, deepening the pressure and the taste of musk and warmth, his own salty fluids and Ben’s hole and Tom’s saliva, he let his hands drift, one around the back of Tom’s neck, the other lower, pulling Tom closer to flush against him, the naked skin of their cocks sliding together. 

“Please, can I--” from the bed. Ben’s voice, pitched with need but not the least bit sorry for interrupting, came. He’d propped his neck up with pillows and had his ass aimed at them, one arm hooked under his knee, and his fingers dancing just a breath from his hole, obviously wanting to touch, but not wanting to be punished for it. 

James moaned and bucked up into his lapful of warmth. 

“Yes. Fingers, no toys. And not your prick, ass only.” He ordered, sure at this point that he would be obeyed. Ben wanted too badly what they’d been promising, wanted to be fuller than he’d ever been, and he wouldn’t sacrifice that for a quick wank. 

Thus assured, he turned his attention back to Tom who responded by arching into him, dragging their groins together. Neither was erect yet, but the intent was there, and it wouldn’t be too long… he was sensitive, sure, but not painfully so. Not torturously so. Not like poor Ben.

“I did promise, whatever you need to get hard again…” Tom reminded him, voice a dry huff in his ear. Tom raised up, dragging his cock along James’s abs, and then down, so James’s cock was trapped under him. He felt the twitch of interest there, and grinned.   
“What would you like, James? My mouth? My ass? Want to fill me the way you did Ben? Do you want to spank me, mark me all up? I’ll even let you bruise me if you like—My costumes are covering most of me right now.”

James hesitated for a moment, trying to flit through the possibilities, and Tom gave him a wolfish grin. His hand came up to James’s neck, and traced around his Adam’s apple.   
“Or do you want the opposite, mm? I’m bigger now, stronger—how would you like to be on your knees, be held down and fucked open?” The hand suddenly circled his throat, the grip strong but the squeeze slight, only enough to hint at what could be, not to actually impair breathing.   
“What do you say, James?” 

He was tempted. So damnably, utterly tempted. It had been a long time since he had allowed someone else to top him, to take him, trusted them to take care of him. And it had been a while since he and Tom had had that sort of relationship. He trusted him, but he didn’t yet know his levels of control, not on this side of the fence. And he wouldn’t mind finding them out—but not now. Not with Ben watching, and needing him in charge. Not with Tom having to wear condoms. He much preferred the feel of skin on skin.

“I will take you up on that sometime soon—once your papers are in order. You know my feelings on rubbers.” He forced his voice to be casual.   
“For now, I will have you on your knees. I’ll have your mouth—I hope you haven’t forgotten how, since the last time.” He locked his eyes on Tom’s face, and refused to look away as Tom moved backwards off the chair to settle between his legs. 

He reached down and saved the bottle of wine from tipping as they readjusted themselves, and filled his mouth with it—nearly spitting it all over Tom and himself when his eyes settled on his bed. 

Ben had managed to contort in such a way that his entire fist was in his ass. It didn’t look comfortable, or easy, and his eyes were nearly closed from the sensations he was causing, but James couldn’t bring himself to stop him—or look away.   
Not until Tom had closed his mouth around him and begun his dance of tongue and teeth, the careful application of pressure and suction damn near artistic. 

He stared up at him, eyes wide and almost appearing innocent at this angle, completely at odds with the lips stretched around James’s cock. Goddamn. Between the two of them, he was hard—perhaps not fully so, but enough that he could count himself erect. 

He took another deep drink from his bottle, and choked on it when, mid-swallow, Tom decided to press his nose to James’s stomach, his throat working and convulsing around his length. 

James pressed a hand to the base of his skull, more for support than to keep him in place, but Tom bobbed, as though impatient, and James bucked a tiny bit, testing, to which Tom hummed his approval.

He managed two more thrusts before Tom had to back off, eyes watering and gasping for air as spit leaked from his mouth, and James’s precum dribbled onto his lower lip. 

“Well there’s that…” Tom trailed off, turning at James’s nod toward the bed and losing sight of his words at about the same time as it registered that he’d lost sight of Ben’s entire hand. 

“Good lord.” He breathed, reverent. “You weren’t joking.” Tom got to his feet as though on autopilot, and Ben pulled his hand out, heavy lidded eyes focusing on them. James’s eyes were drawn to the shining muscles of his asshole, open and trying to work themselves closed.

James approached the bed and lubed his hands up, tilting Ben so that he rolled, his bum pointed towards the ceiling and his gaping hole waiting and welcoming. Ben looped his arms under his knees.

“Tom? Your hands.” He instructed shortly. He put his together, fingers touching, and pressed both to Ben’s hole. He’d never double fisted him, and didn’t really intend to—it seemed too likely to damage the boy. But the weight of the threat of it also turned Ben on beyond belief.   
So when he slid his hand in up to the wrist, he let his other fingers dance at the rim of his ass, twirled his arm and then pulled back and out before chasing that hand with the other, alternating which one he was fucking Ben with, establishing a slow, steady rhythm. 

It felt, oddly, a bit like kneading bread. Punching in, pressing down and twisting a little, and then back and out, only to repeat on the other side. He could see his hand making a slight bulge in Ben’s lower abdomen, and it made a small swell of satisfaction bloom in his chest. Ben, meanwhile, had his eyes open wide, but they were unfocused, and he got the impression that he was sliding in and out of his subspace. His mouth was open, his lips glistening and his breath coming in wet pants and moans. The muscles in his thighs and arms were shaking as he just took it, and James gave it to him, utterly enchanted.

Then Tom was there, waiting and watching, a warm presence at his shoulder. 

“One at a time.” He instructed on a whisper, not wanting to jar Ben out of his near trance state. 

Then, when he slid his hand out, after a pause and a whimper from Ben, Tom put his hand in. 

“Fuck.”   
The single word showcased Tom’s entire undoing. He’d obviously not done this before, was being so careful-- so as not to hurt Ben-- kept looking between Ben and James as he sunk slowly in, and James saw when he flexed his fingers inside, saw Ben’s eyelids flutter and heard the tic in his breathing. Once, twice, Tom pulsed within him before clenching his fist and pulling back. 

He followed it with his other hand, alternating as James had, but took his time with exploring, Tom’s face nearly worshipful, no longer turning to seek approval from James, his eyes trained only on Ben’s face. Blissful, the two of them. Imps, cherubs, something not quite human, and James found himself feeling left out… old, plainer than the two of them, less refined, less well schooled… these, his pupils in the bedroom, and he found himself feeling small in comparison.   
He brushed it off, fetching a towel and drying his hands with it before pressing one of them gently to Tom’s shoulder. 

“I think he’s waited long enough, don’t you?” He asked, full of wry grins and suggestion. 

Tom withdrew and accepted the towel from him, and James turned to checking Ben carefully for any signs of ill use. 

“Ben?” He spoke softly still, calling Ben’s drifting gaze back to him. Ben focused and lowered his legs, letting them fall to the bed like a puppet with cut strings.   
Uncurled, it gave James an unimpeded view of Ben’s cock, dark with the blood rushed to it and with the rubber nearly painful looking around it. But he’d left it on, hadn’t used his words, hadn’t asked for it to come off. 

“You’ve been so good, Ben. Would you like your reward now?” Ben still seemed to be floating, but he reached upwards, his lips pushing out as he pulled James down to him for a kiss that was incredibly filthy, hungry, demanding.   
James returned it sweetly.   
“Ben? I need your yes. You know I won’t go forward without it. Do you want this still? Both of us at once?” 

“Yes.” His voice was an utter wreck, strained and hoarse and breathy, but he croaked out the word anyway. James brushed his fingers through his hair and kissed him again, another slight peck. 

“There’s my boy. Alright, come here.” The last syllable came out as a grunt, because he rolled himself onto the bed, seating himself beside Ben, while gesturing for Ben to straddle him. 

“Tom? The lube, and a new rubber for you if you would.” That handled, he turned his attention back to Ben, who was looking at him as though he hung the stars.   
They didn’t usually fuck like this. Usually it was about his weight resting on Ben, pinning him down, or having him tied down. The last time Ben had been on top was during a rough patch when he and Mark had had a quarrel and he’d ended up riding out his anger and insecurity on James’s lap before dissolving into tears. 

Now, though, when Ben sank onto him, already stretched and wet and ready, he had to use his hands on his hips to keep him from swooning. Ben pressed his forehead against James’s, and James had to check once more.

“Are you sure?” it was a conspirator’s whisper, not intended for anyone’s ears but their own. “You can say no at any time, you know that—and if it hurts unduly, I expect you to, you understand?”

“I want this.” Ben informed him, more lucid now than he had been just a few moments prior. He rocked forward, using his hands on James’s shoulders to keep himself steady. “I want you both to stretch me so wide I think I’ll split.”

“Alright. Tom, when you’re ready, then. Slowly.” Tom nodded and climbed up behind Ben on the bed, his broad hand in the middle of Ben’s shoulders pressing him forward, more towards James, tilting his hips upwards to make entry easier for Tom. 

James watched Tom pour lube over his cock and then position himself on his knees, bent over Ben’s back. 

“Alright then, Ben?” He asked, meeting James’s eyes.  
Ben bit out a small, “Please.” And James nodded and then… 

Tom was sliding in and it was… god. James squeezed his eyes closed and then looked down to where Ben had tipped forward, arching his back, until his cheek pressed into James’s collar bone and his breath came in hot, wet pants against his neck. Ben’s lips worked open and closed, as though trying to find words and being completely incapable. 

Beyond him, he couldn’t see the blue of Tom’s eyes at all, and he figured he must be in a similar state. God, this was so much more than he’d expected—tighter, warmer, and the contrast between the heat and texture of Ben and the near sterile smoothness of Tom—no, this was good. He marveled that they hadn’t done this earlier. Regretted it, insomuch as he could regret anything just now. 

And then Tom began to move. 

He thought the sounds in his room could be set to any music that had ever existed, or ever would. The heat was fantastic, the red dimmed now to a healthy pink on Ben’s buttcheeks, but a new wave of color coming from the pressure of Tom’s hands holding them apart, white where his fingers made dips in the perfect roundness. 

James found his own mind detaching, observing odd details while the sensation of heat and pressure and friction and textures sent his body spiraling to places he hadn’t been in memory.   
His hips stuttered upwards in a counterpart to Tom’s thrusts that, while not perfect, served their purpose. Ben’s fingers were clawing into his shoulders and he was letting out a high whine that he was attempting to bury in the skin of James’s throat. 

Tom tipped his head back and sped his movements, already so close, and James realized none of them would last long. 

He managed to maneuver his hand between their bodies, and tugged off the rubber cock ring, glad for its stretch and afraid that the motion may have hurt Ben somehow, but if so, he didn’t seem to notice or care; he had lost his grip on James and fallen against his chest, tears making James’s shoulder wet while Ben’s long overdue orgasm pulsed between them. 

Slowly, gently, Tom pulled out and stripped off his condom, laying it on the bed and pumping furiously at himself until he came across Ben’s back. 

James considered doing the same, but Ben’s weight on his chest stopped him.   
He was breathing and his heart was beating furiously, but he seemed to have gone unconscious. James had never fucked him into a white out before. 

Tom looked fondly down at them.   
“Would you like me to help you move him off of you?” He asked. James considered, then shook his head. 

“Will you go into the bathroom and fetch me a towel, with warm water? I’ll take care of him from there.” He wasn’t sure how Ben would be feeling when he woke up—sometimes he needed to be gentled out of feeling still vulnerable, still exposed, and other times he was quiet and happy and calm. 

Either way, he was safe. James knew that he knew that much at least. Knew that they’d done what they set out to do, and that Ben would be comfortable and well enough put together for at least a couple of weeks. 

He stroked at his curls and across the planes of his cheek, a tired smile tugging at his face. He carefully rolled them both on their sides, and took the towel from Tom with a grateful smile. 

He was gentle with the cleanup, careful to check and be sure Ben hadn’t been harmed. He seemed alright—likely he’d be sore, and his ass was still fluttering in an attempt at regaining its usual shape, but that would happen soon enough. 

He made a mental note to offer Ben a bag of frozen peas when he came to, and in the meantime he just held him. 

Tom looked on from his seat in the chair that James had abandoned, and he nodded to himself. 

“You’re a good man, James. A good friend. I dunno where I’d be if you weren’t there for me, or where he’d be--” Tom gestured. James felt himself tearing up a bit, and just nodded his thanks. 

“Yeah well, get your test work done, and you can return the favor sometime.” 

Ben stirred in his arms, and Tom excused himself to give them some room. 

Outside the window, the sun was beginning to peek over the rooftops of London, and it was looking to be a gloriously bright day. 

Inside his flat, Ben was smiling and pressing small kisses to his jaw, and Tom was probably figuring out how to turn his sparse cabinet stocks into a proper English breakfast. 

Not at all bad, as far as movie premiere celebrations went. 

He took a deep breath and looked Ben in the eye to ask if everything had been okay, and was answered with a mischievous grin.

“Next time,” Ben answered, “I’d like very much to try ‘figging’.” 

James couldn’t help but laugh, a little relieved, and safe in his knowledge that, somehow, nothing had gone wrong, he drifted off into a soft sleep.


End file.
